Sangre Fria
by See Saw
Summary: Revenge comes in many forms, but, the most satisfying way to extract revenge is to mete out the torture oneself. A Clint Eastwood's Fistful of Dollars story. Rated for graphic violence and one beat up American.


I was nervous writing this fic because, as far as I know (which isn't very much in and of itself) this is the only fic from this Clint Eastwood series. So, as of such, I have a couple of notes to make for whoever (if anyone) reads this.

The one thing that made this chapter hard to write is the fact that Clint's character has no name. I understand why they did it in the movie (heck, I even appreciate such a thing) but it makes it pretty hard to write about his character. So bear with me on my references to him. I may have to come up with a nickname if I feel that my references are too ambiguous and confusion ensues. Input from readers on this topic would be great.

In _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_ Tuco calls him "blondie" though he doesn't look blonde to me. But, out of respect to that reference, I will mention him as a blonde. So as far as stats go, I may err a bit. I think officially, Clint has brown eyes, but to me, they look green in the movie. So, I refer to him by these characteristics though they may be off.

I also don't know the particular time line and order of the three "dollar series" movies. So, I am taking the liberty of having this take place after _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_ and about 3 days after _A Fistful of Dollars_. _For a Few Dollars More_ hasn't taken place yet.

Also, Sangre Fria is a fictional town about 10 miles north of the town in AfoD, San Miguel.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'm sorry, señor, but every room is occupied."

"In this rat-hole of a town? Tell me, when did Sangre Fria become the capitol of Texas, hmmm?" the hefty Mexican asked sarcastically, pushing his face into the smaller man's thin face. "You know that I come here every year, and yet you forget to save a room for me this time?"

"Señor, please, you forget that I have a business to run. I cannot turn away paying customers just to save you a room. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to," the manager said abruptly and walked past the angry Mexican.

The Mexican spun quickly on his heel to retort, but the manager clearly had no intentions of dealing with him further as he approached a tall, lean man coming down the stairs.

"Good morning, señor. It's good to see you up and about. I assume you are feeling better?"

Without replying, the man sat down at one of the tables in the corner of the hotel's bar. "Can I get you something to eat or drink?" the manager inquired, unperturbed by his customer's reticence and, at a nod from the man, left to ready the man's breakfast.

As the man began to dig through his front pockets underneath his poncho, the Mexican walked up to his table. "What business brings you to this town, amigo?" he asked in a dangerous low voice.

Finding what he was searching for, the man stuck a thin cigar into his mouth and, striking a match across the table's surface, cupped his hands around the match flame and the tip of his cigar. A puff of smoke later, the man tilted his head to reveal a pair of harsh green eyes under the brim of his hat.

"I said," the Mexican growled slowly as if he were talking to a particularly slow child, "what business brings you here?"

The man, his intense stare still fixed on the Mexican's face, slowly reached into his poncho and brought out a rolled up piece of paper. He unrolled it and held it flat against the table.

The Mexican's eyes widened when he saw the contents of the paper.

"Bounty huntin'," the man said in a slow drawl his eyes never leaving the other man's face.

"You must be mistaken," the Mexican said hastily, "there is no one in this town that goes by that name."

"Maybe not," the man said expressionlessly, "but, there's someone who seems to have this face." He looked intently at the Mexican.

The Mexican gave a nervous throaty laugh, "And you think that man is me?" He laughed again. "I think you are blind as well as stupid." He turned and began to walk towards the door.

Then, in one fluid movement, the Mexican quickly spun on the heel of his boot while grabbing his pistol from its holster. However, before he had a chance to aim his gun at his fair-skinned target, the man fired a shot from underneath the table. The bullet flew true to the man's aim and embedded itself in the Mexican's head.

The shooter rose slowly from his chair to go inspect the dead man. "At least I'm not slow," he said to the corpse.

"No, indeed you aren't."

The blonde man turned his head to the left to see another Mexican coming down the stairs. "That was some shooting. And now, you're a thousand dollars richer."

"Who're you?"

The Mexican was now at the bottom of the stairs. He was a strongly built man of medium height. His sturdy framed was dressed in mostly black attire; black chaps, boots, shirt, vest, and hat completed by a pair of black holsters—one at each hip—both containing a revolver.

"Juan Martín," he said with a grin and a small bow, "Bounty hunter."

"Bounty Hunter, huh?" the man said quietly and nodded in the direction of the newly dead body "then I figure Sandro del Via here is one less person for you to worry 'bout," he returned his gaze to the other bounty hunter and eyed him carefully.

Martín only laughed and began walk the circumference of the room with the taller man as the center. "No, I'm sorry, I must have given you the wrong idea about me. I'm not after the _official_ bounties like you are. Instead, I have a…private…employer. One who is only offerin' money for," here he stopped and squared his body with the other man's, "one person."

"Interesting…" the other man responded as he took one last puff on his cigar before he threw it down. He then flipped his poncho over his left shoulder to reveal his .45 caliber revolver in the holster on his hip.

"Ha! Del Via was wrong: you're not as dumb as he thought. But, this is a fine establishment. Let's settle this outside," Martín said backing out the door. The other man followed.

The two men stepped outside into the brilliant sunlit morning. Save for the few horses tied to the hitching posts outside the various buildings, the road was clear of almost all activity. Eyeing each other coolly, both men walked into the street and stood about twenty feet from the other. Neither moved for what seemed to the few observers an eternity.

"I'd like to know," the American said, his low voice carrying across to Martín and breaking the silence, "who you work for." Other than his mouth, his body remained as still as a statue in the hot Texas sun.

"I bet you would," Martín laughed. "Come peacefully and you'll know soon enough. What do you say to that?"

Instead of answering the question, the man in the poncho quickly reached to draw his pistol.

A shot was fired.

The blonde dropped his gun and stared at his bleeding and now empty hand. Drawing both of his pistols, Martín centered them on the unarmed man and approached him slowly.

A glint of light from the roof of the hotel caught the bleeding man's eye and he turned his head to see another man with a rifle dropping out of sight.

He turned his head back to face Martín. "That was a cheap trick." Underneath his calm tenor and stance smoldered a cold fury visible only in his sharp green eyes.

"No, that was my associate, Levi. But you'll meet him soon enough." Martín stopped his approach. "Now, drop your belt."

The blonde man gazed frostily at the Mexican. Then, he reached, with unhurried movements, to his gun belt's buckle and undid it. It fell to the sun-baked road.

"Very good," Martín responded as he continued towards his prey with his guns trained unwaveringly on him. Reaching him, Martín kicked the blonde's gun further away from him. "I hope Levi didn't hurt you too bad…No, it's just a graze. Our employer would be unhappy if you came back dead," Martín met the green-eyed man's gaze levelly, "He wants that pleasure for himself," he said in a softer yet edgier voice.

Still pointing one gun at the blonde, he put the other back into its holster and began to walk around the other man. "You know, my employer gave me some interesting information about your condition." The other man visibly tensed

Martín continued his circle until he was right in front of the motionless man's left side. Suddenly, he shoved his fist into the taller man's ribs. The man gave an almost inaudible gasp, grasped his left side, and fell to his knees right at Martín's feet where he tried to regain his breath. "Ah, did I hit a sensitive spot?" Martín taunted as the man struggled back onto his feet. Sweat covered his face and his breathing was slow but labored.

The man straightened up and fixed a look of cold fury onto Martín's face. Then, with a movement that took Martín by complete surprise, he raised his knee swiftly right between the Mexican's legs. Unable to do anything but fall to the ground in a graceless and defenseless heap, Martín dropped his gun.

"Did I?" the man breathed as he stiffly bent to pick up the fallen man's gun. However, just as he grabbed it, he heard the ground crunch behind him. Before he could whirl around, he felt a sharp pain in his head and saw stars before he dropped to the ground unconscious.

"Cheeky bastard." Martín groaned and spat on the man from where he sat. He looked up at the man with the rifle who had knocked their target out, "Hurry and tie him up Levi. And don't worry about being gentle. After delivering him to the boss, this'll feel like heaven to him."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Considering that I have another fic that I've put off on for almost a year, updates for this one may be slow in coming. I also have summer assignments that I've put off for this whole summer.

But anyway, reviews would be nice. Especially if those reviews contain comments on how I can make this better. As I said before, I've never read another fic from this series and I can use all the help I can get. If you know of any fics from these movies PLEASE TELL ME! I would love to read them.


End file.
